


On A Reflective Surface

by aquietdin



Category: Persona 5
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Game Spoilers, M/M, brief mentions of past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 00:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietdin/pseuds/aquietdin
Summary: “I feel like I know you,” he admitted. Akira felt his face flush with heat. Yusuke only blinked at him, then ducked his head, a faint pink on his pale cheekbones.“I was wondering if I was the only one,” he said quietly. “Have we met before?”





	On A Reflective Surface

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to MaskedHero for her eternal support and help when I was stuck with this!
> 
> I needed to take a break from Canon Divergence to write something else for a second.

Dark. Running.

He twisted to turn a corner. Running, he was running, never fast enough. Hallways winding forever. A knife in his hand, monsters all around, seeping through the walls. Someone called his name. A false misstep, then falling, falling forever, dissolving and reshaping. A scream, piercing, not his own, not--

 

With a gasp he awoke, twisting in his blankets. Akira coughed once, twice, his breath lodging painfully in his throat. The rafters above his head wavered as a piercing ring filled his ears. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tried to calm his lungs, his palms slick with sweat. The ghost of the dream still clung to his mind, making him dizzy as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress.

Once his head stopped spinning, Akira checked his phone. It was just past seven in the morning, and with no texts from Boss telling him to do otherwise, he would need to open the shop soon.

He dressed slowly and went to brush his teeth, a few splashes of cold water helping to clear his head. Nightmares weren’t a frequent occurrence, but when they did come, they tended to haunt him all day. With a sigh Akira fastened his apron, flicked on the stove, and unlocked Leblanc’s door.

The first set of regulars came in about twenty minutes later, and older couple that lived down the block. Such creatures of habit were they that Akira could have set his watch by their arrival, a fresh batch of house blend already brewing for them. They were followed by a few random customers, most of them neighbors, or at least with faces familiar enough to place them in the store before. He made light conversation with a young businessman as he stirred the day’s pot of curry. It was lacking spice, but he had yet to receive any comments about it, so he left it as-is in favor of taking inventory.

As the afternoon dragged, Akira made himself a cup with the last dregs of the cheaper beans. He needed a caffeine hit more than anything, his attention starting to wane as the chime of the door bell caught his attention. A young man came in, carefully, as though he wasn’t sure if the shop was actually open. Akira looked him up and down. Tall and thin, clutching timidly at his bag, he stepped into the light and Akira blinked. He looked vaguely familiar, probably a semi-regular.

“Hello,” the stranger greeted, his voice surprisingly deep.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Akira put on his best customer service smile. “Afternoon. What can I get you?”

The stranger eyed the booths but decided on a seat at the bar, leaning against the wood. “I admit this is my first time here,” he said. “I was drawn in by the scent, it lingers all the way down the block.”

Not a regular, then. “House blend is usually a good place to start.”

A smile, soft and unsure. “Then that is what I shall have.”

Making coffee while customers watched wasn’t a new thing, but this guy fixed him with a piercing gaze, dark eyes following his every movement. It made the kettle shake a little in his hand as he bloomed the grounds.

“Cream?”

“No thank you, I prefer black.”

The cup clinked in the saucer as he set it on the bar. Putting the dripper aside to let the ceramic cool, Akira tried to discreetly watch his new guest as he took small, calculated sips from his cup. He knew he’d seen his face before somewhere - it would be hard to forget someone that pretty. Probably a model or something.

The lady who ran the drugstore down the street came bursting in, her loud laugh and infectious smile lighting up the cafe as she took her regular booth. She preferred siphon brew, mostly because she enjoyed watching the process, and a large plate of curry. She tended to be a little too talkative, but Akira appreciated her predictability.

The stranger finished his drink with a barely audible sigh. He stood, fishing coins from his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It was delicious.”

“Come back anytime.”

Then he left, carefully closing the cafe door behind him. Akira deposited the handful of small coins he’d been given into the register and shook his head.

\-----

The following day was busy enough that Akira had blown through yesterday’s batch of curry by noon and was making a second pot, carefully measuring the red pepper this time. Customers came through the door at a steady enough pace to make him contemplate texting Boss for backup, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Counting down the register tonight would be interesting.

Around three, the bell on the door chimed, and Akira turned to see the tall stranger from the day before stride in. His eyes found Akira’s and he smiled.

“Welcome back,” Akira said. “What’ll you have today?”

Stranger took a seat at the bar near the siphons. “There is a chill in the wind, so I would enjoy something rich to warm myself.”

Akira examined the bean shelf. The Honduras single-source was pricier, but it might be just what this guy was looking for - and it could keep him coming back. Serve the good stuff up front and you land yourself a regular: a trick that Boss taught him early on.

He served the cup black and the stranger smiled. “Like to try the house curry? It’s made to compliment the coffee.”

Eyebrows went up, then he shook his head. “Perhaps another time,” Stranger responded, smoothing back a lock of hair. “I’m a bit short on funds today.”

 

As much as he wanted to talk to his new customer, the Doctor from the nearby clinic came in and ordered her usual, and Akira jumped to respond. She always wanted the most expensive beans, and Boss would skin him alive if he didn’t give it his full attention. As he checked on the rest of the guests, Stranger took his time finishing his cup, and it was nice to see someone really appreciate the coffee. Leblanc would occasionally get customers that would slurp it down like it was the same crap you could get out of a vending machine. They didn’t tend to be the type to come back, though.

“Thank you again,” Stranger said with a warm smile. “That was quite satisfying.”

Akira grinned and tugged at a curl of his hair. “Glad you enjoyed it, mister…?”

“Yusuke,” came the immediate answer. Akira raised an eyebrow - first names already? Yusuke’s eyes bulged as if he came to the same conclusion. “Kitagawa,” he quickly added.

“Akira,” he sent back. Yusuke blinked at him, then smiled.

“Keeping things informal?”

Akira shrugged. “I consider it part of the atmosphere.”

Yusuke laughed, a smooth, deep sound. “It’s lovely,” he said, rooting around in his leather bag. He paid for his coffee with small coins again, and left. Akira’s face went a little warm. Yusuke didn’t specify what exactly he found ‘lovely,’ but he had to admit the attention was nice.

\-----

A rainy Tuesday came, and Akira took his time opening the shop. He felt groggy and blamed the weather, the steady patter against the windows filling his head with a pervasive drowsiness. Leblanc would hardly get customers on days like this, but at least it was a good opportunity to clean, organize, and take stock.

As the sky began to darken, the front door burst open with a violent jingle of the bell. Akira stopped wiping down a booth and looked over to see Yusuke, standing in the doorway, completely drenched. A puddle was forming on the floor beneath him, Yusuke’s hair plastered to his face in waves. He attempted to smooth it away with little success.

“I appear to have forgotten my umbrella,” he said. There was a beat of silence, and then he chuckled. Akira tossed the rag he was using in the general direction of the sink and approached him. He really was soaked through, clothing clinging pitifully to his scrawny frame.

“Have a seat, I’ll get you a towel.”

Akira took the stairs to the attic two at a time, going for his laundry bin. He’d done the wash a few days before, thankfully, and grabbed two clean towels and a pair of socks.

Downstairs, Yusuke was huddled on a bar stool, rubbing at his arms and shivering. “Take off your jacket,” Akira instructed, unfurling the towel and then swinging it around his shoulders. He thought he could see Yusuke’s ribs through his shirt as he set the other towel and the clean socks on the next stool.

“I apologize,” Yusuke spoke quietly, hugging the towel close to his body.

Shaking his head, Akira began preparing a fresh cup of coffee. “Don’t worry about it.”

After a few minutes, Yusuke uncurled, using the towel to wipe at his hair, face, and clothes. He removed his shoes and socks, slipping into the dry pair that Akira had provided.

“Here, sit at a booth, it’ll be warmer.”

Yusuke didn’t argue, spreading the other towel on the booth seat before sitting, keeping the other draped over his thin shoulders. Akira set a cup of hot coffee in front of him with a smile. He thought Yusuke was blushing a little as he returned to the bar to pour himself a cup, and, after some consideration, serve a plate of curry. He went to the booth and set the plate in front of Yusuke, sliding into the opposite bench.

“Oh, I didn’t…” Yusuke stared at the curry, eyebrows furrowed. Akira waved his hand.

“On the house. You should eat something hot so you don’t catch a cold.”

Yusuke hesitated, then took up the spoon and began eating. He took small, dainty bites, much like he sipped his coffee, stopping once he’d made a dent in the plate.

“It’s marvelous,” he said, sipping his coffee. “So rich and bold. Is it your own recipe?”

Akira took a gulp from his own cup and shook his head, letting one arm rest over the back of the booth. “It’s the owner’s. I’m just following orders.”

“You do it justice, then.”

Yusuke continued to eat, and Akira watched the rain from outside the door. The mood was comfortable and easy, so he studied Yusuke’s face while he could do so without being noticed. It was still so familiar, something about the curve of his jaw, the part in his hair, the dark line of lashes at the bottom of his eyes ringing a bell in the back of Akira’s mind. He still couldn’t place it, like a word on the tip of his tongue, slipping away the harder he searched for it.

“Thank you for the meal,” Yusuke said, setting his spoon down. “Do you treat all your customers with such generosity, I wonder?”

Akira felt one corner of his mouth quirk up. “Not usually.”

“Oh?” Yusuke brushed the hair from his face. “Why am I receiving special treatment, then?”

His coffee cup clinked in the saucer. “I feel like I know you,” he admitted, though he regretted the words immediately after they left his mouth. Akira felt his face flush with heat. Yusuke only blinked at him, then ducked his head, a faint pink on his pale cheekbones.

“I was wondering if I was the only one,” he said quietly, tugging the towel closer to himself. “Have we met before?”

“It’s possible,” Akira tapped at his chin with a knuckle. “I only moved to Tokyo last year, though.”

Yusuke smiled gently. “Perhaps we knew each other in another life.”

“Maybe.”

The clock on the wall chimed, and they both jumped. Akira chuckled as he gathered up the empty cups and plate.

“I normally close about now, but you’re welcome to stay a bit.”

Shuffling out of the booth, Yusuke shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t take undue advantage of your hospitality any longer.” He removed the towels and haphazardly folded them, setting them on a bar stool, before pulling his damp jacket back on. Akira glanced out the door at the rain that was still steadily coming down, and ducked into the storage closet.

“Here,” He said, handing Yusuke his umbrella. “You can return it later.”

Yusuke took it, and smiled shyly as he stuffed his wet socks into his jacket pocket. “Thank you, friend. I’ll see you again soon.”

Akira saw him out, watching him walk down the block before turning the sign to closed and locking the door. Something had stirred in his chest when Yusuke called him ‘friend,’ though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

\-----

Near the end of the week, Leblanc sat empty as Akira caught up on dishes. He’d had moderate sales in the afternoon, going through more than half of the day’s curry. It was enough to keep him employed, at least. And with no customers in the shop an hour before close, he was tempted to lock the door and go take a long bath. He’d been feeling tired lately, having to drag himself out of bed each morning. He found himself wishing he could have a pet for company. Maybe a cat.

The jingle of the doorbell pulled him out of his daydream. Akira turned to see Yusuke creeping in, slowly closing the door behind him.

“Am I too late?”

Smiling, Akira shut off the water and dried his hands. “No, you’re fine. Just slow tonight.”

Yusuke slid into the center bar seat, setting his bag on the adjacent stool and opening it. He pulled out a pair of neatly folded socks, and an umbrella.

“I wanted to return these,” he said, placing them on the counter. “I can’t thank you enough. I most certainly would have taken ill without your care.”

Akira smiled as he grabbed a clean dripper and wet a filter. “Not a problem. What would you like tonight?”

Yusuke shrugged out of his jacket. “House blend, please.”

Nodding, Akira went to work. He was fixed with a laser focused stare as he made Yusuke’s coffee, and was almost tempted to put some flair into it. Then he remembered the last time he’d made such an attempt, and steadied his hand. Boss never let him live that one down.

He could at least put a little love into the actual serving, picking out one of the nicer cups for Yusuke and carefully sliding it across the bar. Yusuke seemed impressed, taking a sip.

“I very much enjoy the atmosphere here,” he said. “It’s quite calming.”

Transferring his stack of fresh washed cups to the front counter, Akira smiled. “That’s good to hear.” He went about drying them with a rag; normally they would be allowed to air dry, but he felt the need to busy himself, oddly nervous.

“How is business? You always seem to be working alone.”

The question caught him a bit off guard, making him pause with a cup in hand. “It’s been good lately.” He picked up another and wiped it out. “I usually work alone, but I don’t mind it. It’s not too much of a grind."

He finished drying the cup in his hand and had picked up another before he noticed the silence. Akira looked up to find Yusuke staring at him, wide eyed, a lopsided grin growing on his face.

“What--” Then Akira stopped, realizing his unintentional joke. “Oh god.  _ Grind. _ ” He groaned at himself. “I wasn’t trying to make a coffee pun, honestly.” He went back to drying a cup, embarrassment seeping into his face and neck.

Yusuke chuckled, mostly likely at Akira’s expense, and sipped from his cup. “I didn’t expect you to be such a joker.”

There was a pop, the words ringing, beating against his brain. The room spun and his hand was red, red leather and darkness, sooty tracks winding endlessly, creeping in, a voice laughing--

“Are you alright?”

Akira blinked. Who had said that? He looked down at his hands. They were red with blood, splattered on the towel, shards of a coffee cup falling through his fingers. He brought one of his hands closer, as if he was seeing it for the first time, red rivets pouring from splits in the skin.

There was a scrape as Yusuke leaped from his seat. “You’re bleeding,” he sounded alarmed, rounding the counter. Akira went towards the sink, oddly numb as Yusuke pulled paper towels from the dispenser with one hand and yanked his bloody fingers towards the faucet with the other. The sting of cold water made Akira gasp, as if being pulled out of a long dream. Yusuke cupped his wounded hand with a wad of paper.

“Hey! Can you hear me?”

The words snapped like a rubber band and all at once, reality sharpened. The cafe. Coffee bubbling in the siphons. Yusuke beside him, pressing paper towels over a set of cuts, blood oozing through.

“I’m…” Akira shook his head. “The cup broke.”

Yusuke was wiping away the blood, eyebrows cinched together. “I think it’s only small cuts.” He threw the towels in the trash and took hold of Akira’s hand. “It shouldn’t be…”

He trailed off. Or maybe Akira stopped listening, he couldn’t tell, because where their hands connected, he felt something. An energy singing under his skin, cold like ice and burning hot all at once. He looked up and saw Yusuke so close, with his dark eyes and shining hair, the cupid’s bow of his mouth. He knew those features, knew them so well, like he’d seen them every day of his life and had somehow forgotten. Yusuke’s gaze bore into him like a blade.

A sharp stab of pain made him hiss, and Akira’s concentration shattered. He looked down at their hands, where Yusuke’s long fingers were clasping his own, squeezing at the cuts. There was paint under his nails. Paint. Wasn’t it blood once?

His hand was released, Yusuke jerking back, breathing hard. He put a hand to his head and swallowed thickly. “I....” His eyes darted around the cafe. “I’m sorry, I… should go.” With that Yusuke snatched up his bag and scurried out the door, his half finished cup of coffee on the bar, still steaming.

Numbly, Akira turned the sign to closed and locked the door. He bandaged his hands and cleaned up the blood, going for a quick shower instead of a long soak in the bath across the street. He didn’t sleep well that night, his skin still buzzing where Yusuke had touched.

\-----

It was almost another week before Akira saw Yusuke again, not that he was counting the days. Or the hours, or minutes. He’d stepped out to hit the grocery store around the corner for spring onions, leaving a ‘back in five minutes’ sign on the door. Upon his return, he found Yusuke, standing timidly at the front, his leather pants and high heeled boots reflecting the fading sunlight.

He noticed Akira and went on the defensive, clutching at his bag and taking a step backwards. Akira almost wanted to laugh; he was hardly threatening, dressed in a faded hoodie and carrying a plastic shopping bag of vegetables.

“Hi,” he greeted. Yusuke flinched, but then relaxed a little as Akira unlocked Leblanc’s door.

“Hello,” Yusuke returned. Akira held open the door and Yusuke hesitated before following him inside, taking up his usual seat at the bar. He was nervous, it showed plainly in his face and posture, so Akira began preparing a cup of coffee. He felt slightly guilty, it was at least partially his fault that Yusuke was so apprehensive. He’d probably freaked him out last week, bleeding everywhere and then gaping like a lovestruck puppy. Akira wet the coffee filter and turned off the faucet with a little more force than necessary.

“I’d like to apologize,” Yusuke began, beating him to the punch. “I shouldn’t have left so quickly last time.”

Shaking his head, Akira poured hot water over the grounds. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Yusuke insisted, tugging at the hem of his sleeve. “You were hurt.”

Setting down the kettle, Akira held out his left hand to show where the wounds had been, now only faded pink lines in his skin. “It’s fine, the cuts weren’t deep.”

Yusuke reached out as if to take his hand and see for himself, but stopped and drew back his fingers before they touched. Akira’s neck went warm and he tried to focus on making the coffee, Yusuke’s presence weighing down the room. As he passed the finished cup over the bar, Yusuke’s mouth opened and closed several times.

“Are you certain we haven’t met before?” he blurted. Caught off guard, Akira set the dripper and kettle aside, wiping his hands on his apron. He searched his memory, rifling through lists of people. Similar names, shared facial features, familiar mannerisms - but nothing came up that matched completely. He shouldn’t know Yusuke Kitagawa at all, but it was there, that nagging sensation in the back of his brain that he knew this, knew him, his voice and hands.

“We must have,” Akira concluded. “I can’t remember when, but…”

A flash of relief passed over Yusuke’s face. “Yes. I admit, I’ve been struggling to remember you. I thought I might be going mad.”

Shaking his head, Akira smiled. “It’ll come back to us eventually.”

“I hope so.”

Yusuke finished his coffee in silence, occasionally locking eyes with Akira. Once he finished, Yusuke stood, taking a bill from his bag and setting it on the counter. “Thank you, it was delicious.” He said fidgeting, then he held out his hand. Akira stared at it, a possible invitation for a handshake, so harmless at first glance. Slowly, he reached out, sliding his fingers into Yusuke’s palm.

The first thing he noticed was cold. Yusuke’s hand was like ice against his, creeping up his arm until he felt it in his skull, buzzing through his veins. He knew this. He’d  _ always _ known this, all his life, forever, this feeling in his skin and behind his eyes. This man before him, on the other side of the bar, gripping back with crushing strength. His hands were better suited for a brush.

Yusuke pulled free with a grunt, as if it took all his might to do so. The spell broke, and it felt like a gust of hot, stagnant air rushed between them to take its place.

“I…” Yusuke’s throat worked as he swallowed thickly. Like he wanted to say something. Instead he nodded, turned, and left the cafe.

Akira stared at his hand for a long while.

\-----

Cleaning a booth after a slow, dreary day, Akira checked the clock. He could close early tonight, given how slow it was. He doubted Boss would care. His regulars had come and gone, though he was feeling too sluggish to really notice. He wondered if he was coming down with something and considered a trip to the clinic.

As he went to lock the door, none other than Yusuke strode through, his breathing a touch labored. Their eyes found each other's and they stood in the entryway of Leblanc, as if daring one another to move first.

Yusuke moved first, taking a step back towards the door. “I'm sorry, I should…” he hesitated, eyes scanning the room. Then he sighed and squared his shoulders. “I wanted to see you.”

Akira blinked, suddenly very much aware of the dirty plate and rag in his hands. With a jerking nod he took them to the kitchen, dropping both into the sink and washing his hands. He could hear Yusuke behind him, shuffling closer. The back of Akira's neck went hot.

He cleared his throat as he dried his hands. “I was going to close the shop. Do you want to stay?”

“...Yes.”

Removing his apron, Akira tried to suss out the source of his unrest. Yusuke wasn't threatening in any way, but his fight or flight response was blaring like a siren. He took a breath to calm his nerves as he flipped the sign to 'closed’ and locked the door.

“Coffee?” He asked, hoping the answer would be yes and give him something to do other than stand in a puddle of his nerves. Yusuke shook his head, and slid into a booth, setting down his bag. Akira poured two glasses of water anyway and sat in the opposite bench.

They sat in silence. The clock on the wall ticked away.

“I've been feeling strange lately,” Yusuke began, reaching for his glass of water but not taking a drink. “An unease has permeated my life, and I cannot shake it.”

Akira thought of the tiredness that was growing stronger by the day. “I think I know what you mean.”

Nodding, Yusuke shifted in his seat. “It plagues me day and night. It's as if the world itself is off balance. But when I am here, I feel calm.” His eyes found Akira's. “I thought it was this cafe, but now I'm beginning to think what soothes me is  _ you.” _

Sucking in a sharp breath, Akira froze in his seat. How should he even respond to that? A soft, unsure 'me too’ was in his throat as Yusuke carefully extended his right hand.

Akira stared at his fingers. Yusuke's touch had been so electrifying those times before, sending shock waves up his arm that he couldn't say were unpleasant or entirely unwelcome. But there was something else there, something that scared him and also drew him in. Something hauntingly familiar that broke through his aversion to letting himself be touched.

He stretched out his fingers, touching Yusuke's palm as if testing it, like it would burn him. Akira felt a faint spark, a pinprick, a voice in his head. Their hands came together and he felt it intensify, thrumming, murmuring in his ears. A memory teetered on the edge of recollection.

“What is this?”

Fingers were sliding down his wrist. “I don't know.” Yusuke sounded breathless.

It became too much, like the air around him was beginning to warp. Akira jerked his hand away with a gasp. A wave of dizziness hit him, making him pull his glasses from his face and rub at his eyes.

“Akira?”

Shaking his head, Akira stood, leaving his glasses on the table, his head beginning to pound. He stumbled away from the booth, towards the stairs. He just wanted to lie down. A hand caught his shoulder, squeezing, and Akira let Yusuke turn him around.

Fingers found his and held tight, hands clasped between them, held against a chest. A low buzz filled him at the contact, Yusuke near enough for Akira to feel his heart pounding through the fabric of his shirt, against his ribs. He was  _ so close. _ Yusuke’s face blurred as he leaned in, sliding their cheeks against each others. Akira drew in a deep, shuddering breath and it made his head swim, the scent of Yusuke’s skin so shocking and comforting and alien all at once.  _ I know this, _ he screamed in his head.  _ I know this, I know him. _

Yusuke sighed. “This is…” he murmured, the sound right next to Akira’s ear. He slid his face down, fitting it against Akira’s neck with a hum and inhaling deeply. Akira vaguely registered that he was trembling, nerves singing. A pair of lips touched his throat, tentative, before pressing in, then again, and again. The touch jolted him, a splash of ice against his skin that made him gasp aloud. It felt as if the floor was going to fall out from under him.

Fingers cupped his jaw, the pad of a thumb pulling across his bottom lip. Dragging his eyes open, he saw Yusuke’s pupils blown wide, hair falling across his forehead as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Akira’s.

Akira sucked in a long, unsteady breath through his nose as their mouths slotted together. He felt like he was melting, crumbling, the uneven planks of the wall digging into his back as Yusuke pushed him against it with shocking strength. Kissing, they were kissing, it took his brain time to come to that conclusion because the buzzing in his head was so loud, he could almost see images. Himself, Yusuke, people he’d never seen but knew that he knew. Masks. A dagger. Mazes and subway tracks and creeping darkness. It send a thrill through him, up his spine and back down again as one of Yusuke’s knees slipped between his thighs. A tongue rolled in his mouth demandingly, their laced fingers pressed tight against the wall beside Akira’s head, Yusuke pinning him with his whole body. It hurt, it was bliss, it was too much and not enough.

The clock on the wall chimed, louder than anything he’d ever heard. Yusuke jolted, as if he’d been shocked, pulling his face away and separating their mouths with a loud smack.

He stared for a moment and then leaped back, the door to the toilet clattering as he slammed against it. His chest heaved with each breath, face and neck a deep red. Yusuke put a hand to his head and winced, as if in pain.

“I…” his voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry, I-”

He made a mad dash for his bag, then threw himself at the door, fumbling with the lock until it opened and rushing out.

Akira slid down the wall. The high of Yusuke’s touch ebbed, fatigue seeping in to take its place. As he closed and locked Leblanc’s door, a voice was in the back of his mind, like a muzzled screaming he couldn’t quite understand.

\-----

Days passed in a haze, blurring together. Akira was weighed down by an exhaustion unlike any he'd known before, struggling with every task. Reality felt as though it had been smothered with a towel. No amount of sleep seemed to be enough, and the vitamins he’d gotten from the clinic did nothing to relieve his constant lethargy. It was like he was wasting away, the faces of the cafe’s patrons all the same now, may as well have been featureless for all Akira could remember of them. He watched the door, hoping Yusuke would come back. He’d take their strange, intense connection over this looming weariness without question.

Akira leaned heavily on the bar, staring at the cup of coffee he’d made and willing the caffeine to put itself into his veins via telepathy. The cafe had sat empty for some time. It was two hours until close, but he was so desperately tired. The streets seemed so quiet lately, no one would notice if he closed early.

The door jingled. Akira pulled his head up, grimacing at himself for not locking the door a minute before, to greet his new customer.

Yusuke stared at him. He looked haggard, dark circles under his eyes, his hair dull and whispy. His usual bag wasn’t over his shoulder, his clothes wrinkled.

“Akira,” he breathed, his voice thin.

Had it been a week before, Akira might have blushed, or been nervous, but his fatigue was so great that he sagged at the sight of Yusuke. He couldn’t deny being happy to see him, brushing past to flip the sign and lock the door.

“Come on,” Akira took hold of Yusuke’s wrist, still covered by his sleeve, and led him upstairs to the attic.

At the top of the stairs he heard Yusuke gasp softly, stopping in place to scan the room with furrowed eyebrows. Akira let go of his wrist and dropped on to the old couch, hunching over with a tired sigh. After a moment Yusuke sat beside him, carefully, leaving space between them.

“What is happening?” Yusuke asked, mostly towards the floor. “It’s as if… as if my entire life is a dream that I cannot wake from.”

Huffing a breath, Akira nodded weakly. “Same.”

“I am haunted by constant exhaustion. Nothing feels real. Except…”

Yusuke slid his fingers across the fabric of the couch cushion and folded them over Akira’s. He felt the energy there and took in a breath, turning his hand over to fit their palms together.

“...Except when I am with you,” Yusuke finished.

Akira lifted his head to meet Yusuke’s dark eyes, thick lashes and freckles dotting his irises. He nodded, either in agreement or permission, as they leaned into each other. Yusuke’s lips were dry and rough, much like Akira’s, as their mouths pressed together in a succession of hesitant kisses.

The same low buzz hummed between them, their kisses gaining urgency. Akira pulled off his glasses without breaking away, letting them clatter to the floor as Yusuke gripped at his hair. He could feel something, just out of reach, that familiarity he’d felt when he’d been pinned to the wall with Yusuke’s tongue in his mouth. It was there now, rolling against his own. His blood roared in his veins, ears ringing, but for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he almost felt sane.

It wasn’t enough. Akira broke away after several failed attempts, breathing heavily in the space between them. He wanted more, more of Yusuke’s touch. He stood, still holding Yusuke’s hand, and guided him up, walking backwards towards his bed. Sitting on the hard mattress, Akira pulled at Yusuke’s arm until he complied, setting a knee on either side of Akira’s hips and lowering himself into his lap.

Yusuke kissed him again, hard, making small, needy sounds as Akira slipped his hands under the back of his shirt. The skin there was soft and warm, a wave of goosebumps prickling up as he let his nails drag along the knobs of Yusuke’s spine. Akira worked at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it away, the fabric sliding to the floor. Yusuke was so thin, ribs plainly visible along his sides and below his collarbone. Akira kissed the center of his chest, letting his hands roam as Yusuke began to pant, pulling at the collar of Akira’s shirt.

He stopped to yank the shirt over his head, then coiled his arms around Yusuke’s middle. Their bare skin together made them both gasp, holding tighter. Akira felt alive in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling, Yusuke reclaiming his mouth with a hungry growl.

Slowly, they peeled out of the remains of their clothing. Akira searched Yusuke’s skin with his fingers and lips, as if it held the answers he so desperately needed, gripping at boney hips and kissing the ladder line of thin scars on the inside of his upper arm. In turn Yusuke pushed him against the mattress and dipped his tongue into the hollow of Akira’s throat. Hair was tugged, spines arched, Akira groaned as Yusuke took to his neck with teeth. For the first time in weeks, the world around him felt  _ real. _

Falling back on to his pillow, Akira panted in the aftermath, dimly registering Yusuke pulling the comforter over them both. He should probably care about the mess they’d made, but he didn’t want to move, not with Yusuke settling on the pillow to face him.

It was a long while before Yusuke spoke. “Is this what love feels like?”

Akira’s heart thumped in his chest. “I don’t know.” He brushed a lock of damp hair from Yusuke’s eyes. “But I want you to stay.”

Yusuke hummed softly, then shifted closer, tucking his head under Akira’s chin. He was tired, so tired.

\-----

It was the pounding in his head that awoke him, sharp and unrelenting. Akira struggled to open his eyes, grey light coming through the dingy windows above his bed. He blinked, shifting, finding a warmth beside him that wasn’t familiar. Turning, he saw Yusuke, coiled under the comforter and sleeping.

He went for his pants on the floor, fishing his phone from the back pocket and hitting the home button. The screen didn’t respond. Reasoning that the battery must have died, Akira shook his head, dressing himself with the clothes that were scattered around the bed the night before. He blushed a little as he watched Yusuke shift and murmur against the pillow, then went downstairs.

The cafe needed to be opened, and he checked the clock on the wall. It had stopped, the second hand still and the time reading after midnight. Or was it afternoon already? Akira scratched at his hair, oddly disoriented, and went to unlock the door.

As he wrapped his fingers around the knob, it disintegrated in his hand, turning to dust that pattered against the floorboards. He took a step back, blinking. Was he still asleep?

Akira turned back towards the cafe, and gasped. The walls were warped, the paint melting and peeling away. The leather of the booth seats was cracked, the tables yellowed and sagging. His heart raced. A dream, it had to be a dream. He went for the stairs, but they cracked under his weight. Panic set in as Akira took them two at a time, scrambling up to the attic.

Yusuke was still sleeping, blankets pulled up over most of his head. Akira shook his shoulder.

“Yusuke,” he panted. “Yusuke, wake up.”

With a jolt and a snort, Yusuke’s head snapped up. “Huhn…?” He blinked, and looked around, then winced and put a hand to his head. “Akira?”

“Something’s wrong,” Akira rasped. He swallowed hard, his throat bone dry. “We need to get out of here.”

Yusuke sat up, clutching at his temple. Akira tried not to stare as the blankets fell away from his body, reaching down to gather Yusuke’s clothes from the floor and hand them to him. “Come on,” he urged. “Get dressed.”

As Yusuke tugged on his rumpled clothes, Akira tried to open the window without success. It was stuck in place, as if it was never made to open at all.

“What’s happening?” Yusuke asked. The creeping sensation that something was terribly wrong was growing stronger as Akira grabbed Yusuke’s hand to lead him downstairs. His companion yelped in surprise as the stairs began to give way beneath their feet, crumbling into powder behind them.

The cafe was melting, colors bleeding together in a way that hurt Akira’s eyes. He pushed past the booths and the bar to the door, the knob still in a pile of dust below. Yusuke was starting to mumble in disbelief as Akira leveled his shoulder at the cafe door, and slammed into it.

The wood and glass gave way, shattering and splintering as he went through it and rolled onto the sidewalk outside. Yusuke followed, stepping through the ruined doorway and extending a hand to help Akira to his feet.

“Akira, what is going on? Please!” His voice was thin and week, but it boomed in the silence around them. Akira stopped, holding up a hand, and listened. He heard nothing. No traffic, no birds, no people or busses or buzzing power lines. Silence, nothing but silence all around them. Yusuke gasped as he realized it.

“What is this…?”

“I don’t know,” Akira answered, stumbling away from the cafe. “But I don’t think we should stay here.”

Yusuke took his hand, and together they wandered out into Yongen, the eerie quiet pressing in. There were no people, no neighbors or vendors or students. Shops were left unattended, the vegetables in the outdoor stands of the supermarket rotting in the open air. There was no one.

As they went further, the ground around them began to look as if it had been neglected for years or even decades, the asphalt buckled and collapsing. The facades of buildings were rusted and cracked. The sky was solid grey clouds, no wind or sun, the air around them perfectly still. Their footsteps echoed as they walked, faster, until they were both running, searching for something, anything that made sense.

In the distance, a low rumble was forming, growing louder and closer. Akira glanced over his shoulder in time to see a skyscraper in the distance topple over, smoke billowing up in its wake.

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered, turning a corner. Yusuke was panting behind him, his breathing sounding like it was painful. Another rumble and more buildings began to fall, tilting and crumbling. Akira could no longer recognize where they were, the city streets blurring and shifting around them. The ground was beginning to shake.

Akira turned down a narrow street and came to a plaza, or what might have been one - it was difficult to tell with reality shifting and morphing all around them. In the center, a giant pane of glass jutted from the ground, rising far above their heads. A mirror, their reflections plainly visible in its unmarred surface.

Approaching the mirror, Akira touched his fingertips to it. It was cold, his reflection rippling as if it were water. Yusuke followed suit, pressing his palm flat against it with a soft grunt. There was something there, something buzzing under the surface, just like it was when he touched Yusuke. A voice was laughing, his own voice, distant and faded.

The ground shook, hard enough to make them both stumble. In the mirror they saw behind them, in the distance, a great tidal wave of red, rising up over the skyline towards them. Akira turned to see it with his own eyes, and felt his knees begin to shake.

“We’re going to die,” Yusuke stated flatly, though there was a tremor in his voice.

Something was behind the glass, beating against Akira’s palm, laughing, laughing. Red eyes in the darkness, grinning. Whatever was calling to him had to be on the other side, just out of reach.

“We have to go through.”

“What?”

Akira turned to look at Yusuke, who had gone so pale. “The mirror. We go through it.”

He half expected Yusuke to protest, but instead he only hesitated a moment before giving a jerky nod. Maybe he felt something, too. Together they backed away from the glass, Yusuke’s hand finding Akira’s and giving his fingers a squeeze. The tidal wave stretched into the sky behind their backs.

A tug at his arm, and Akira let Yusuke pull him close, kissing him once. It felt desperate, the sky over their heads turning red. They broke apart and there was fear in Yusuke’s eyes, his body shaking. Akira rocked back on his heel, and together they ran forward, smashing through the glass.

It shattered, shattering, everything around them cutting him to ribbons, dissolving and reshaping, pieces of a landscape fitting together bit by bit. Girders and steel, wood, fabric, weaving itself together as he fell. The pounding in his head popped, followed by a sharp stab of pain. Memories slotting themselves into place in his mind, lining up in order. The woman and the drunken man. Moving to Tokyo. Ryuji, Ann, the Castle. Yusuke, Morgana and the Phantom Thieves, Mementos stretching into the darkness.

A piercing laugh filled Akira’s head. _ I see you finally remember, _ a voice boomed as his image came swirling from the mist in his mind, his top hat and wings and thigh high boots, blood red and gleaming. Arsene spoke again.  _ Tell me, what will you do now? _

His skin was ripping itself apart, a mask tearing itself from his bloodied face. He smiled.

“Arsene!” Akira cried out, his voice weak and hoarse. A snapping of metal sounded all around him, chains rattling as Arsene laughed.

Nearby, he heard Yusuke’s voice as he called for Goemon, a rush of icy air following.

They met the ground, Akria’s boots hitting the floor and staying for only a second before his knees and hips buckled. He crumpled into a heap, his cheek bouncing against cold metal. Yusuke fell beside him, his fox mask skewed. Akira breathed, and for the first time in weeks the air felt real, filling his starved lungs. Everything hurt.

“....ker? Joker! Can you hear me?”

Grunting, he tried to move with little success. “Fu...taba?”

Something like a sob came through, crackling over their Metaverse connection. “I found him! He’s alive!” A beat of silence, then, “And Fox!”

There was chattering over the line, Ryuji cursing. Akira looked over at Yusuke, his boney limbs askew, his chest rising and falling softly. He reached a red gloved hand towards him, finding two thin fingers and clutching them weakly. Yusuke’s hand twitched in response.

Futaba was talking, almost too fast for him to keep up. “He’s hurt, they’re both in really bad shape. We need to get them out of there.” More chattering, Makoto’s voice barking out commands like she did when the situation was bad.

“Joker?” Morgana this time. “We’re coming to get you, okay? Sit tight.”

Akira could only groan softly, his voice gone, throat raw. He tried again to squeeze Yusuke’s hand.

Footsteps were coming closer, voices following them. Someone was shaking his shoulder, turning him over, pulling him up. A hand patted his cheek.

“C’mon, man, say something!”

Akira cracked open his eyes. A skull mask filled his vision, a pair of boyish brown eyes staring out. Ryuji sighed loudly.

“Holy shit dude, don’t scare me like that.” 

Ryuji cradled him, pressing something to his mouth. A bottle, he dimly registered, as it was tipped and he tasted a sports drink. He tried to swallow but his throat was so dry and cracked, making him cough and sputter. Ryuji helped him try again and he successfully drank. He’d never been so thirsty in all his life.

Ryuji pulled Akira’s arms up over his shoulders, limp as a ragdoll, his limbs refusing to obey. He cracked open his eyes long enough to see Makoto carrying Yusuke, his arms and legs dangling as she hefted him onto her back.

Akira faded in and out. He saw the carpet below, intricate patterns. People in ball gowns and masks. The bow of a ship, a red ocean stretching forever. Then the street, the noise and lights of Tokyo as a hand supported his neck and helped him take another drink. He was so weak, barely having the strength to look up and see Ann wiping a tear from her eye. Akira searched for Yusuke, finding him in Makoto’s arms as Haru lifted a bottle to his mouth. Then darkness.

\-----

He awoke on a couch in an unfamiliar room, a blanket over his body. Akira shifted, feeling fur against his cheek, and found Morgana sleeping beside his head, curled up on the pillow. He raised a hand to rub at an eye. He felt so weak.

“You awake?”

He looked over to see Futaba curled up in a lounge chair nearby, wearing Featherman pajamas. A thick blanket was over her shoulders.

“Where?” was all Akira could get out before he lost strength.

“Sojiro’s house,” Futaba answered softly, sitting up. “We brought you both here from Shido’s Palace.”

Both? Akira glanced around and saw no one else. Futaba pointed at the floor, and Akira followed her finger to find Yusuke on a futon beside the couch, sleeping soundly.

Akira put his arm over his eyes.  
  


He didn’t know how much time passed while he slept, but he was occasionally awoken to drink water or soup, and then crackers and a bit of rice. He was famished, nearly too weak to hold a pair of chopsticks, eating with a spoon instead. Yusuke did the same, remaining silent as they camped in Sojiro’s living room. Eventually he felt strong enough to take a much needed shower, scrubbing days worth of grime from his skin and hair. Once he was dressed, Sojiro served him a small plate of curry as Yusuke retreated to the bath to clean himself up. Morgana stuck close by, explaining what had happened.

“It was a trap,” the cat fidgeted. He looked tired. “We didn’t see it until it was too late. Yusuke tried to save you and got caught in it too, then the two of you just… vanished.”

Akira set down his spoon. “How long were we gone?”

Morgana frowned. “Two days. And given the condition we found you in, any longer and you might have died.”

Finishing his food, Akira could feel some of his strength returning. Finally lucid enough to think properly, he thought about the ‘trap;’ how he spent weeks in Leblanc, working and living a normal life. No Metaverse, no Phantom Thieves, nothing. It was almost like a pleasant dream. He remembered the fatigue he felt, the exhaustion that set in, reasoning that it must have been because he was, in reality, without food or water for days. Akira thought of Yusuke, suffering with him, and was overtaken by the memory of his touch, his kiss, of straddling Yusuke’s thighs and digging fingernails into his skin, and shuddered.

Yusuke returned from the bath. He was wearing Akira’s clothes, though they hung awkwardly from his scrawny frame as he sat and ate Sojiro’s curry in silence.

Later, after Futaba left to sleep in her room and Morgana snored on the couch, Yusuke was tapping rapidly at his phone, plugged into an outlet.

“What are you doing?” Akira asked him.

Yusuke paused. “I am emailing an instructor. It seems I missed a critique while we were…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

Yusuke finished typing, then set his phone aside. “That I overworked myself and neglected to eat, resulting in collapsing.” His voice was quiet. “It’s not far from the truth, nor would it be the first time.”

The silence was deafening between them, with no television to interrupt it, the subject of what transpired between them hanging heavy and unspoken. Akira cleared his throat.

“The others will want to know what happened.”

Yusuke nodded, but didn’t look his way. “Perhaps we should… omit certain details.”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

\-----

After another day of Futaba’s diligent nursing, Yusuke went back to his dorm. Akira returned to the attic, to his dusty old bed and shelves covered in nick-nacks from his friends. Fish patterned cups, bowls of plastic ramen, a swan shaped boat and an “I heart Tokyo” shirt. On the opposite wall, a ceremonial arrow hung, a gift from Yusuke during their outing to the Meiji shrine. He sat on the bed and felt it creak under his weight, trying without success to shut out the memory of sharing it with Yusuke, lips and hands, how their bodies fit together. That had been Akira’s first time, if it could really be counted inside an almost-dream. And it probably could, given how real it had all felt, the taste of Yusuke’s skin still vivid in his mind.

Akira shook his head and tried to sleep.

\-----

Being confined to the attic had never felt so agonizing.

Akira was still unsettled by his ordeal inside whatever alternate reality he and Yusuke had endured. His skin itched with the urge to go outside and verify for himself that this world was real and whole, the memories of it melting and crumbling around him lingering. The most haunting part was remembering what it felt like to  _ not _ remember - the strange sensation of losing himself in the illusion as it selectively shoved his memories away and locked them in a dark corner. What if he hadn’t realized? Would he have just wasted away in the Metaverse, dying in the illusion, not even leaving a body behind for his family and friends to mourn?

Morgana did his best to ease Akira’s fears, but he was still processing the whole thing and wasn’t able to talk about it in any constructive way. He knew he had to. The others needed to know what happened, to save them from a similar fate.

His phone buzzed non-stop throughout the morning and afternoon as his team chattered in their group IM, making plans to meet up at Leblanc. Yusuke gave a few one-word replies, mostly confirmations. Akira’s head hurt too much to pay attention as Sojiro brought him some takeout for lunch.

After five o’clock, Sojiro closed the cafe as members of the Phantom Thieves began showing up, making themselves comfortable. Akira’s leg bounced as he sat in a booth, huddled near the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yusuke enter, and made a point not to track him moving to the furthest bar seat.

Morgana and Makoto began the meeting, though Akira was only half listening. He’d pieced together most of what had happened, and wasn’t keen on revisiting it. He gave a summary of what happened, Yusuke occasionally chiming in to confirm, neither of them going into fine detail. They didn’t need to know everything. The team seemed shocked enough to learn he had experienced several weeks in just two days, Morgana studying Akira’s face, but holding his tongue.

“I still can’t figure out how it all worked,” Futaba mused, tapping at her phone.

“No matter how,” Makoto frowned, “It means that Shido is even more powerful in the Metaverse than we realized. We need to be careful.”

They adjourned for the night, and said their goodbyes. Yusuke caught Akira’s eye once, and they both looked away.

Later, Akira checked the fuel level in the space heater, rubbing at his arms and wishing he had warmer socks. He sat on the bed, still trying to make sense out of what happened. Would it have been different if another one of his teammates had fallen into the trap?  Would have have taken them to his bed, kissed them, made love to them? He tried to imagine anyone else in Yusuke’s position and only succeeded in making himself uncomfortable. The question of  _ why was it okay with him _ popped up in Akira’s head, and he squeezed his eyes shut to shove it away.

“You okay?”

Akira turned to his pillow, where Morgana sat, washing his face. The cat put his paw down and cocked his head. “You’ve been even more quiet than usual.”

Biting his lip, he shrugged. It was hard to lie to Morgana, partly because he didn’t want to, and also because the cat was sharp as a tack. He could pick up on a lie with little effort and wouldn’t hesitate to call it out.

“It was just really strange,” Akira answered. “I’m still kinda shook up.”

Morgana stretched. “You said today that you and Yusuke escaped together. Maybe it was your friendship that drew you to each other inside the trap?”

Akira felt his cheeks go hot and hoped it was dark enough for Morgana to miss. “Maybe.”

\-----

An agreement was made to hit Mementos before attempting to return to the Ark, to give Akira and Yusuke a chance to fully recover and get back in the game. They stuck to the higher levels where the shadows were weak and fearful. Akira stumbled at first, missing shots and dropping his knife, but after an hour he fell into a rhythm, easily dispatching enemies. He even felt himself grinning, his body thrumming with adrenaline as he went for the down escalator.

“Hey, Joker?” Futaba’s said from behind him. “Shouldn’t you put Fox on the front lines for a bit? Give him a chance to get some practice in?”

Akira blanched. He was hoping no one would notice how he’d left Yusuke with the reserve group and that he wouldn’t have to give a reason. He glanced around at a circle of expectant eyes behind masks.

“I am fine,” Yusuke spoke up. “I’m still too fatigued to be of much use, honestly.”

Makoto seemed satisfied by this answer, and nodded.

That night, Akira tucked himself into his covers and fell asleep with ease. He dreamed of Yusuke, his skin and hair, pressed against Akira’s body. He felt so safe, comforted and warm, with his cheek against Yusuke’s collarbone.

He awoke with a sharp gasp, his skin going hot, then cold.

\-----

The following day they returned to Shido’s ark, Makoto watching Akira closely. They chose a route that went far from the area where they had fallen victim to the false reality. With Morgana, Ryuji, and Haru at his side, Akira rolled his shoulder to work out the stiffness in the joint. He didn’t look back to see Yusuke far behind him.

\-----

“All that’s left is the Cleaner,” Futaba said, not looking up from her laptop in the ark safe room. Makoto nodded.

“We should break here and rest up. We don’t know what to expect from him.”

With a careful glance around, they exited the Metaverse onto the sidewalk in front of the Diet Building. Morgana wasted no time in climbing up Akira’s side to settle into his bag, and they said their goodnights. Yusuke walked in the opposite direction, even though the train back to his dorm would stop at the same station Akira was going to.

Later, as Akira returned to the attic from the bath, Morgana sat on his pillow and watched him with wide eyes.

“You’re avoiding him.”

Akira stopped mid-way reaching for his phone’s charging cable, and blinked. Morgana cocked his head.

“Yusuke, I mean. Ever since we got you two back, you won’t even look at him.”

Akira frowned, plugging in his phone. “What happened was… unnerving.”

“I got that part,” Morgana left the pillow to sit at his side. “But there’s more to it. You used to never go into the Metaverse without Yusuke. You  _ always _ put him on the front line. You two were close, but now it’s like you can’t bear to be around each other.”

Akira stared down at his phone, the screen dark. He hadn’t really taken any particular notice to how often he’d brought Yusuke along - he’d made considerable effort to include every member of his team as much as he could, swapping them out to relieve fatigue and to keep anyone from feeling left out. And he got along with Yusuke; for all his oddities, or perhaps because of them, Fox was understanding in a way the others weren’t. And Akira couldn’t help but appreciate being understood.

“What happened between you two in there?”

Shaking his head, Akira put his phone aside. “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

He went to lie down, Morgana moving aside with a sigh. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me. But maybe you should talk to Yusuke. We need to be able to work as a team, and we can’t really do that if the two of you are on the outs.”

With that, the cat curled up at his side. Akira stared at the ceiling for a long while.

\-----

The next morning had Akira pacing around the attic. He hit the batting cages at noon, hoping it would help alleviate some of his anxiety. And it did, not so much in the endless baseballs he failed to hit, but in seeing Yongen with for himself. The people rushing about their lives in the small alleyways and streets put his mind at ease.

Back in the attic, he took out his phone and opened the chat app. Yusuke’s IM thread was still near the top, his most recent text sent the day before they were swallowed up in Shido’s ark. It was a half-formed plan to see an exhibit of blown glass in Ginza together before it closed. Akira mused that it was probably too late now.

With a deep sigh and a shaking hand, Akira tapped out a new message.

_ >I need to talk to you. _

He resisted pacing around the room. A few agonizing minutes later, his phone pinged.

_ >>Very well. Shall I meet you at Leblanc now? _

_ >Yeah. _

Turning off the screen, Akira dropped his phone onto his bed, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. Morgana stopped washing himself on the windowsill to look his way.

“Something up?”

Akira bit at the inside of his cheek. This was going to be an awkward talk, and he’d rather not have an audience.

“Can you go hang out with Futaba for tonight? I, er. Need some space.”

Morgana looked him up and down, then stretched and jumped to the floor. “Okay. Text Futaba if anything comes up.”

Akira followed him down to the cafe and opened the door, since Morgana still couldn’t quite work the lock while in cat form, and then took a seat at a booth. The clock on the wall ticked away, pendulum swinging back and forth. On the wall was Saiyuri, holding tiny baby Yusuke in her arms. He realized he was staring, and put his gaze firmly on the wood grain of the table.

Three neat taps came from the glass of the door, and Akira turned to see Yusuke standing on the other side, clutching at his bag.

As he went to open the door, he was overcome with a sense of deja vu, hesitating a moment before stepping aside to let Yusuke walk past him. As he flipped the lock, Akira realized he had no idea what he was even going to say. How do you begin that conversation?  _ We had sex and probably didn’t mean to. Whoops? _

His neck was hot as they ascended the steps to the attic, Yusuke two steps behind. Akira eyed the couch and passed it by, pulling out his desk chair to sit in it instead. Yusuke paused, then carefully sat on the couch, his form tense.

Pressing his sweaty palms together, Akira studied the floorboards.

“Was it real?”

Yusuke’s voice was strained. Akira looked up to find him facing away, hiding behind his hair as he did sometimes. The top of his ear was red.

“I guess.” Akira picked at a nail. “I felt real, so-”

He grimaced at his choice of words, and so did Yusuke. The silence dragged on, so heavy that Akira contemplated jumping out the window to escape.

“I have thought about it.” Yusuke swallowed loudly.

Akira almost choked. He settled for clearing his throat, shifting in his chair. “What, uh. Do you mean?”

Yusuke took a deep breath, exhaling heavily, before turning on the couch to face Akira. His face was red, as was his neck, and he looked to be sweating a little. Yusuke was tugging at the hem of his jacket, twisting the fabric in his hands as his eyes darted around. He finally sighed and stilled himself.

“What we did - it…” He licked at his lips. “It shouldn’t ruin our friendship.”

Akira blinked. 

“You are a dear friend,” Yusuke continued. “I would like to put this behind us and move forward.”

Yusuke’s words sunk in slowly. _ Put it behind us. _ Akira remembered the other reality, the dream he’d had, and how safe he’d felt in Yusuke’s arms. His stomach sunk.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “That’s a good idea.”

Yusuke smiled, looking relieved, and stood. He extended his right hand as if for a handshake, and it took Akira several seconds to leave his chair. He clasped Yusuke’s palm, hot and damp, nothing like the cold of his skin in the other Yongen. They dropped their hands and Akira’s fingers twitched.

“I should go. We have much work left to do before Shido is defeated.”

“Yeah.”

Yusuke searched his face, his eyebrows creasing briefly before smoothing out. “Goodnight, Akira.”

“Night.”

After he was gone, Akira sat on his bed and stared at the floor. His dream played on repeat in his mind. The room was silent and cold.

\-----

Back in Shido’s ark, it took Akira longer than usual to find his footing. He put Yusuke back on the front line, who proved more than capable of taking up the slack. His palm hit Yusuke’s as he passed the baton, a satisfying smack echoing in the lower holds of the ship. Akira caught a glimpse of Yusuke’s grin below his fox mask, a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth, and swallowed hard.

He told himself he didn’t know what the sinking of his stomach was and leveled his handgun at a shadow.

\-----

With his hoodie pulled up over his head, Akira limped through a back alley, his ankle still aching from the fight with Akechi. He frowned, vision wavering. If he’d figured it out sooner, maybe he could have done something. If he’d reacted faster, Akechi might have made it out alive. Now he was just gone, and there wasn’t even a body. Akira wondered how long it took for a missing person to be declared dead and tasted something bitter in the back of his mouth.

To his left, the scrape of a boot on wet pavement signaling that Yusuke was still at his side. He’d insisted on walking Akira home, even though Futaba and Morgana were with him, walking several feet ahead. Futaba’s feet were dragging as she was hunched over, murmuring to herself and wavering.

Akira let out a small sigh. His everything hurt, even his face, his head pounding behind his eyes. Then there was light pressure at the small of his back, Yusuke’s hand, pressing in to guide him around a corner.

The door to Leblanc came into view, and Futaba trudged past it towards Sojiro’s house, lifting her arm and turning her head to nod a silent goodnight. Morgana sat by the door, waiting for Akira to catch up. Taking his keys from his pocket, he unlocked the cafe door and let the cat in, then shutting it and turning to Yusuke.

Dark eyes stared down at him, a light bruise on his right cheekbone. Akira didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know why he didn’t just go inside, say goodnight, send Yusuke home and go to sleep. His insides felt hollow, his stomach churned. Everything felt wrong and out of place, and his mind kept replaying the sensation of being wrapped in Yusuke’s arms over and over.

“Akira?”

His jaw was working, clicking. There was a loose thread in Yusuke’s shirt, right near a button, and his eyes fixated on it.

“Are you alright?”

No, no, not alright, not at all, but his voice wouldn’t work and his feet were glued to the pavement. Shaking and weak, Akira’s fingers felt around in the air until they caught on Yusuke’s little finger, and held on. He couldn’t get enough air. Yusuke was clutching his hand, his skin cold from the night. The loose thread on his shirt blurred in Akira’s vision as Yusuke pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Akira leaned into him, inhaling a shuddering breath that rattled his body.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Yusuke whispered.

Akira nodded, his cheek rubbing against Yusuke’s shoulder. It was warm and safe here, where he could smell Yusuke’s skin, feel the warmth of his body, and it soothed him, calmed the pounding of his heart. Akira went to pull away, realizing he was clinging, his fists balled up in the cotton of his button-down. Yusuke stared at him, searching, ducking his face down, closer-

Then he pulled back, dropping his arms from Akira’s shoulders. Akira let his fingers open and slip away from Yusuke’s shirt, stepping back towards the cafe door.

“...Goodnight,” Yusuke finally said, turning to go. Akira swallowed hard.

“Thanks,” he squeaked. Yusuke turned and nodded, then continued down the street.

Inside, Akira took off his shoes and crawled into bed in his clothes, curling up under the cold blankets, clinging to the sensation of Yusuke’s arms around him.

\-----

“All that’s left is to wait.”

The Diet Building loomed overhead, brightly lit against the night sky. Shido’s shadow had taken so much out of them, each of them sagging in their skin as the exhaustion from the fight sunk in. They shuffled to the train station, said goodnights, and parted ways. Yusuke held Akira’s gaze for an extra beat, something unreadable in his eyes, body twisting almost as if to follow but deciding against it.

Back in Yongen, Akira took a short bath and returned to the attic. Though he was beyond tired, he paced with nervous energy, making rounds in his room to pick up and examine the items on his shelf. He tugged at his hair and clothes, huffing breaths.

“Akira?” Morgana asked, sitting up on the bed. “Are you okay?”

He stopped, glancing down at his mismatched socks. “Yeah.”

Morgana nudged his pillow. “It’s probably just leftover adrenaline. You should try to get some sleep.”

Nodding, Akira sat on his creaky mattress. He took out his phone, and after a moment of hesitation, opened the chat dialogue. His fingers found Yusuke’s thread immediately, and his thumbs hovered over the keys for a few seconds before deciding better of it and closing the app.   


That night, Akira dreamed of Yusuke, sitting beside him, their fingers laced together.

\-----

Awoken by the afternoon sun, Akira rolled over under his blankets. His skin felt too tight and his head ached. It was Sunday, at least he was fairly sure it was. Scratching his hands through his hair, he thought about the dream, and pulled out his phone.

An hour later, with Morgana out of the shop, the stairs to the attic creaked just before the top of Yusuke’s hair came into view. He strode in and set down his bag, Akira standing to meet him in the center of the room. Yusuke’s boots made him even taller, Akira having to tilt his chin up to look him in the eye.

“You wanted to speak with me?”

They stood in the attic, facing each other, neither moving or speaking. The silence reminded Akira so much of the other reality that he almost wanted to laugh. Instead, he carefully took one of Yusuke’s hands and held it in his own, his grip loose, giving ample space to pull away. Yusuke stared down at him, his brow creased in the center.

“Is this alright?” Akira asked, giving his fingers one small, quick squeeze.

Yusuke’s gaze flitterd down in the direction of their hands for just a second. “Is it alright with  _ you _ ?”

Akira thought of the week he’d spend since they’d returned, dreaming of Yusuke and pining for his touch as though he were starved for it. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Leaning down, Yusuke searched Akira’s eyes before closing the gap to kiss him, soft and hesitant. Akira nearly smiled into it as Yusuke took his other hand.

 

The sun was setting as they sat together on the bed, comforter over their shoulders, huddling together against the chill December air. Yusuke was tracing patterns on the back of Akira’s hand with one of his long fingers, blue and green paint beneath his nail. He did laugh then, softly, and in turn Yusuke pressed a kiss into his hair.

“I’m glad it was you,” Akira said. Yusuke went still, then let himself slump even closer, drawing the blanket closer.  
  
  


\-----

 

Epilogue:

Akira frowned at the group text on his phone, which was rapidly scrolling with a good deal of all-caps responses. At his side, Yusuke seemed indifferent, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“I supposed it’s our own fault for falling asleep.”

Shaking his head, Akira turned off his phone. “I still think we should have a talk with Futaba.”

A soft chuckle. “Did she steal your thunder?”

Akira nodded, but rolled his eyes. “A little.”

“It’s a nice photo, at least.” Yusuke grinned at his phone once more before closing it, a picture posted by Futaba of himself and Akira, taken through the rafters of the stairs as they slept, Akira slumped against Yusuke’s collar with the comforter draped around their shoulders. All around their heads were crudely drawn hearts and smiley faces.

“The emoticons are a bit much, however. They throw off the whole composition.”

Akira pinched Yusuke’s arm as he settled back against him with a happy sigh.


End file.
